The Art Of Giving

Oh. Fight Cub. How could I forget to tell you about him? No forgetting was involved; like most of my intense experiences with other men, they are simply left out of this space, and kept in a special place.

But sometimes they shake out of my special bin and crop up anyway. I'm not sure what it means that FC was in my dream about the churches of Manhattan. My therapist would say that my dreams are a representation of a psyche: every part of the dream is simply a part of my self. My dad, Sah, FC, all part of me. Manhattan, me. Canada? Me. Therapist would also say that the people who I see in a dream of majesty, power, and comfort are the parts of my psyche that bring that to my life.

I met FC the second night I went to Faultline, in Los Angeles last September. The first night, you know all about. Being the creature of habit that I am, I chose to spend my last night in LA doing the thing I did the night before: hanging with my peeps. I could savor the disappointment as I got close. The second time is never as good as the first. And, lo, I was right. Even though the place was full of hot bears celebrating Labor Day, the faces were the same. My disappointment rose in my throat, my eyes fell as I scanned the room.

So I did what I usually do in these situations: I hang around for a few hours, have a couple of beers, and savor the disappointment. After all, there is nothing more satisfying than being right.

Beer drinking, even in temperate "I must drive the rental car home" LA, always causes me to pee a lot. After my second beer, I ordered a third, and took the bottle with me to the bathroom. The Faultline has one lonely bathroom stall for a bar that, even in Manhattan, has like a dozen toilets. There is always a line. I waited, trying not to drink too much beer so I didn't get tipsy or need to pee before my time in front of the toilet. Whilst waiting and not-drinking, I slid away from the crowd, having seen all the faces before, and studied posters for various must-attend parties at parties over the next few months. Porn star appearances. Special costume nights. Drink specials. No sneakers allowed this night. I was amused: gay bars are the same shit, different day, everywhere.

The person ahead of me in line went into the toilet. I shifted positions and felt a hand brush my butt. Someone behind me said "sorry man". I turned around and the person there was a face I had not seen the night before. Bearded, hairy, my height, my weight, muscular. Some kind of Latin or possibly Turkish ethnicity. Brown eyes, thinning hair, but young. And, smiling a smile as clear as the sky had been that day. Nothing under it, nothing hidden. Eye to eye. No interference in the line.

All I could think to say was "hi" and smile back. I'm a dork.

We introduced ourselves, established our respective locations in the universe, and what we were up to. I asked him why his hand was near my butt. "I have a condition...I can't help it!" We covered other topics. I played rugby and like lifting heavy weights. He does BJJ/MMA.

I said "I find it incredibly bonding to grapple with a friend."

"I agree. It's fun and like I said I'm competitive. Just a natural reaction for me." Smiling. I kept checking to see if the smile was the bullshit smile most people give you when they want to hide what they are actually feeling. But my blinking insight was giving me a direct, unfettered line to him. He was happy. His eyes glinted in the low light.

It was my turn to go to the bathroom. I opened the door and stopped in the opening. I backed up a bit and looked over at FC and nodded my head for him to come in with me. He jumped and walked in ahead of me. He had been waiting for the signal.

"I don't have to pee, I just wanted to talk to you," as he walked past me. What a dork.

"Well, I do have to pee, so you'll just have to watch." I put down my half-empty beer bottle and unzipped my drawers. He moved to be next to me. I could feel his warm, furry forearm near mine. I let it rip: I really had to go. The stream was like a tap, flowing hard, and I looked over at my friend, who had unzipped his camo shorts and was pulling out his dick. He stroked himself a little and started to pee. He leaned forward and we kissed, peeing. For those of you that haven't done this, it's really difficult to pee hard and make out at the same time. I'm always worried I'm going to pee on my shoes. Yet the tongue and lips of this hot little cub was pushing the risk of urine-soaked footwear out of my mind. He tasted like beer.

After we finished peeing (he finished first) we left our dicks out and just made out until the banging on the door got really loud. We zipped and washed. "Let's go." He might have said 'Let's take an adventure trip to the ends of the earth. You will be the navigator, I will build the camps. And, at night, we'll make up new constellations.' He kept walking, making a beeline for the door. He grabbed my hand so I could keep up in the crowd.

I said "Go where?" and I said his name. I might have said 'I love adventure trips to the ends of the earth, as long as we travel somewhere new.' We left the bar.

CC was right. I don't need the raft. Free of the raft, I treat him like a pal, an old friend, someone with intimate knowledge of me, affection increased by the magnifying power of time. In short, I was pushing wicked iron.

My forearms get so pumped and swollen during these workouts I can barely grip the weight. During one such painful break, I just let what was on my mind come out. That every single moment of my workouts with CC have been enjoyable. I was never bored, tired, unhappy; always excited, enlivened, and satisfied. He paused and smiled.

Later, he planned out the week for me. But the week is only two more workouts. He stopped himself short after the second workout plan was outlined. "Wow, it just hit me. I'm leaving. There are so many things I want to do with you."

There is nothing more valuable to me than someone who tells me what is on his mind. Someone who calls me out when I'm talking bullshit.

Last night, I was totally justifying my high rent and my old dear friend Troy just stopped me. "STOP, stop stop stop. You're not going to convince me." And that was it. I shut up. I work too hard at the wrong things, sometimes. And, it is immensely satisfying and convenient to simply have a friend point the way, and for me to take the coaching. And shut up. It's like a deep, dark foundation supporting everything.

Several days ago I had a dream that Manhattan was a radial city, like Paris, but always covered in a gothic mist. I was with my dad, Sah, Fight Cub, and a few other friends. At the corner of 23rd Street, Broadway, and 5th Avenue, where the Flatiron building would normally be, there was a church in the gothic style. We climbed the spire, on the outside. There were many radial avenues, and from this vantage point we could see other intersections throughout the city. Far to the west was a pair of churches on either side of the avenue like Bernini's Santa Maria dei Miracoli and Santa Maria di Montesant in Rome, beyond which the Hudson River was visible, and beyond that, a continuation of the urban fabric, avenues continuing on the other side of the river. South in several directions were other churches of differing styles: romanesque, modern, Borromini-esque baroque. North we could see under the clouds all the way to Canada, across a great lake that lay at the top of Manhattan, like Lake Superior or Michigan. Floating in the water, on a deck a few inches above the water, was a church, gothic. It was a deep graphite color, metallic yet barely reflecting light. I knew that this was the church in the water, built upon piles, and that sometimes these piles do not adequately support the metallic church, and they are in constant need of repair. But the church has been there for centuries, floating in the water, the northern focal point of Manhattan. Behind the church, a new city began, ancient, medieval, Canadian.

The churches held something else. Freedom, calm, stability: of course. They also held quiet power, a silent disposition. They were the simple presence that gave the vast void of our universe a context, the vast mat of our city an organization, the vast tangle of my imagination a catalyst, the vast thicket of my heart a love.

littlecublostinthewoods alrightlittlecublostinthewoods do you have a plant?

minx no

littlecublostinthewoods or a little garden?

minx no

littlecublostinthewoods get a plant at least

minx ok

littlecublostinthewoods get something else living in there besides you

minx kimble!minx my dog

littlecublostinthewoods don't let the focus around you be just materiallittlecublostinthewoods you know what i mean

minx got itminx yes

littlecublostinthewoods but the plant thing is this...littlecublostinthewoods when i felt heavy...spirituallylittlecublostinthewoods now i'm getting deep huh

minx type

littlecublostinthewoods i would go and shower and just meditate in the showelittlecublostinthewoods or praylittlecublostinthewoods or cry whateverlittlecublostinthewoods then i would go outside and just stick my feet in the grasslittlecublostinthewoods or dirtlittlecublostinthewoods or snowlittlecublostinthewoods and just connect again w/my senseslittlecublostinthewoods the parts that are bigger than melittlecublostinthewoods and my sense of insecurity would wash away for a seclittlecublostinthewoods i would disconnect and let nature take its course sort off..i menalittlecublostinthewoods meanlittlecublostinthewoods its not magic...but i would dischargelittlecublostinthewoods my negative energy outside...then i would thank thelittlecublostinthewoods plants around me...and if it was nice out i would chill outsidelittlecublostinthewoods and take a nap in the grass or somethinglittlecublostinthewoods it always calms me downlittlecublostinthewoods plus my dogs would come around me once i was calmlittlecublostinthewoods they can sense everythinglittlecublostinthewoods that's just how my mom and i would deallittlecublostinthewoods MaryAlice...she is Extremely spirituallittlecublostinthewoods we have a FUCKED UP connectionlittlecublostinthewoods both good and bad but I've learned to balance it a bittlittlecublostinthewoods since she is so far away

CC gave me the news during Session 73: he got a fight contract in another city, and was moving at the end of March. For some reason, this bummed me out a lot more than the first time he told me he was leaving town. This was certain, definite. There were dates attached, and they aren't convenient to our project. There is the issue of who I will train with to complete my goals.

But the first thing I could think to tell him was Congratulations!. He really wanted my approval, and I wanted nothing except to give it to him. He's going to be a great success.

Yet having had a few days to let this gel, and to have more face time with CC about it, I have observed several things. First, CC and I are skirting dangerously close to routine. He is wired to avoid this, but I am not. And so the change in trainers that I face is an enormous opportunity to kick it up a notch. Sixth Gear. Second, while CC was away for a week, I noticed that I can do a CC workout, only at about 80% because I don't have a spot for the weight. So he is right, he has been the raft that got me across the river; I am perfectly capable of taking the next section of the journey without him. Third, CC cares about me more than I've seen anyone I've hired care. He has been frantically looking for a trainer that he thinks is better than himself, and who is within my budget. By Session 74, he had found this person, and by 75 he had negotiated a price that works for me. At the end of Session 73, after I spent the entire workout worrying about ME, I looked at him and said "I appreciate that you will look for another trainer for me. I get that you don't have to do that." He demurred. "It's no problem." I said "CC. I really get that you don't have to do that. Thank you." He said "You're welcome" and told me to continue the cable rows.

Third, the news was a catalyst for my thoughts. I have begun to contemplate how to challenge my body after my current goals are attained. I am interested in going back to a contact sport, but rugby is right out, given the condition of my knees, and the time commitment involved. A friend suggested BJJ/MMA, which is what CC does. The symmetry is so perfect it alone makes me want to try it. I asked CC about it, he thinks I'd be great at it, particularly in my new weight class. I have a low center of gravity, huge leg strength, and high pain tolerance. And I can take a punch. More on this in another entry.

But the feeling of inevitable disappointment is still with me. It is the feeling of being in grade school, on one of the last summer sundays before school begins, the setting sun setting the house on fire.

It is the feeling I had in the waning days with Aaron, the backward man who increasingly forgot about me the longer we knew each other, me aging, him getting younger. He is probably a teenager now.

CC is a friend, even if only in the confines of our client-trainer relationship. The uniqueness of our relationship is important to me. I enjoy our conversations about love, death, reincarnation, the nature of time travel, in addition to important weightlifting and nutrition matters. So many of my close friends have left New York that it always saddens me to have another leave, even if they aren't a close friend. Is CC a close friend? Right now I feel like he is. He's not someone I would call if I needed a shoulder to cry on, or an ear for council. But he is someone I would call for anything related to matters of the body, knowledgeable and reliable.

Session 76: we're working chest hard. CC lands another non sequitor: "I'm going to see my ex tomorrow". I asked if this was the ex he was seeing when I met him. No, this is the ex he was seeing years ago, for two years. She was his other great love. Ever since she found out he was moving, and engaged to his girlfriend, she has wanted to see him. He told me he may want to do her one last time. In fact, he's torn about leaving NYC, and all his ex-girlfriends. I told him when I first met him, last September, he was a playa, and then he suddenly became a married man. I had wondered where the little playa went. He said "He's still in there. He is telling me this is the last time I'm going to see these people." I said "One round for old times' sake, and one a round for the road." CC fell over laughing. He was laughing really hard. He's going to do it. The house is on fire, sunday afternoon approaches, and so it's time to get our kicks in while we can.

When I bring Kimble back from a walk, just after we have come back into my apartment, he sits. It is a pre-emptive sit. He is waiting for the other half of the cookie in my pocket. I can take off my coat, reach for the towel I use to wipe his muddy paws, hang up his leash, and he won't budge until I give him the treat. He's a very patient, focused fellow.

He sleeps in bed with me. He's my favorite sleeping partner. Aaron was a restless sleeping partner, even more than I am, constantly rolling on me, rolling away. My last boyfriend hated to be touched when we slept: no spooner, that one. But Kimble is perfect. About an hour before I go to bed, he is fast asleep on the floor or the bed. His paws are every which ways, sacked out. See illustration.

When I first lay down, in the middle of my queen-sized bed, he walks around the comfortor for a few steps. Then, he falls, as if throwing himself down into a curled sleeping position. His head lands on my belly or chest, and the rest of him is curled up next to my abdomen. His head is always facing the door or window, places robbers might come in. I have no place to put my arm and hand except where it will touch him. I generally fall asleep like this.

Later, he will be doing his own thing. Sleeping in the crate. Sleeping on the window ledge. Sleeping on the LC4. Sleeping on a corner of the mattress, away from daddy. No matter where he is, when I come back from peeing (I pee 3-4 times every night) he is always curled up on my pillow. He moves as I collapse onto the bed, and he sometimes crawls under the cover, in a way so his back is at my chest, his head on my bicep, to spoon. Other times, he lays perfectly parallel to me, on top of the covers, and I lay my hand on his back and give it a scratch before dozing off again.

When I wake up, he looks me directly in the face. Hey! You're up!

When I break from meditation, he is staring at the wall I am staring at, and then looks at me. Hey! I'm here too!

Typing this entry, he is on the bed, in perfect upright sitting position, staring at me intently. Then he licked his balls. Then back up!

Moments, events, games, images. Anything can cause it, because people will react to anything. In this case, the whole thing becomes a way to discover how much people notice.

Some of my friends will notice but are too cool or too timid (same thing, because both are about looking good) to say anything. My closest friend and colleague was preoccupied by family matters last week in the afternoon we spent together, and although he most definitely observed it, we had more important topics to discuss. Some friends haven't noticed anything since they met me, so conditioned they are to not noticing. A few friends will notice right away, and say something, except I have not seen them in several weeks. Acquaintances will comment in a general, oftentimes startlingly direct way, a way that can only be taken as a compliment. One person noticed immediately, but he knew to look.

None of this is a judgement. It's fascinating for me to observe what people observe, and enjoyable to catalogue it.

For the longest time I kept open the possibility that you were not who you said you were. That you were not one of us. But after all the storms, the fights, the supersonic flights, I secretly loved you anyway.

After a week of us both being sick, CC and I hit it hard at the gym today. I was pushing heavy weights again, he was pushing out of his Benadryl-induced haze into being the great coach he is. Near the end of our workout, he said "I know you think you're tired but you need to put it into fifth gear now, I know you have four gears, let's see the fifth from now on." He says whatever he needs to to make me work. Obviously this is way beyond garden-variety paying attention. He's working and having me work.

During our workout, he said "after this you can take a long nap." I told him I cannot, because I had a date immediately after the workout. He looked surprised. "What, you don't tell me about your dates anymore?" He was only half joking. I smiled. We rarely talk about my dating life, because we're either talking about diet, lifting, or death and reincarnation. You know, usual weightroom stuff. When we don't talk, there is a meditative silence. But there he was, really wanting to know about my date. I told him about my date.

CC wanted to know what kind of guys I like, but wasn't asking directly; he asked me a few questions about my date, in an attempt to narrow down the parameters. I told him that date is cute, handsome, kind, generous. Musclebear, but kind of 40/60 muscle to bear ratio. "You don't mind being the pretty one then?". No, that does not matter to me, I want a sexy guy who is kind, nothing more. The guy gave me the entire Kiehl's line of dog products for Kimble on our second date. Every time I wash Kimble I think about him. He is a charmer. I had kind of written him off for a while, but now I want to bring him back. We're not 100% sexually compatible, but that we can work on.

He asked me if I'd let him know how it goes. I told him I would.

A few minutes later, we were done-done (I felt like there was more), and we did the fist tap. I was going to be late because CC had arrived late for our appointment. He walked toward the exit, and at the exit turned and yelled across the room: "If you're late, blame it on me!", like he'd found the solution to a great problem. I kiddingly told him I will, but I later sent him a dorky email reiterating that I was only kidding. I always take 100% responsibility for being late.

Date was late too, no one was left waiting at our rendez-vous.

Our date conversation ranged far and wide. Around the globe. Politics and economics. Inside. What's underneath our motivations. Free will. The power of human choice. The power of taking responsibility. I realized that my date is first of all a person of integrity: he always does what he says he will do. And if he fails to do this, he quickly takes responsibility and gets back into being with integrity. This is one of my few prerequisites for a friend and a lover, and you would not believe how fucking difficult it is to find people who have this basic level of integrity.

My second realization was that I can talk to him about anything. I implicitly trust him. The part of me that has gotten used to not trusting people after they get really close just shuts down, and he gets close.

Third, he can be with whatever I have to say. Not agree, but be with. We were talking about what is underneath our chosen professions. I told him that it allows me to be someone who knows about a topic that many people aren't versed in. I get to look good. And because I am aware of it, I can choose to be someone who isn't always right, in the know, or looks good. And I'm a better architect for it. He didn't know what was underneath his, so I gave him some ideas I had from listening to him, knowing they were probably wrong. They weren't flattering (as I don't think mine are), but he was able to just take it in, try it on, and say "No, but I think it's this:".

The date ended feeling like it had just begun, like there was a lot more. Like we weren't done-done, there was more coaching, and that we would have to start talking about death and reincarnation soon after we met again.